y=mx+b
___________
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Bits and pieces
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mrsmiawallace
Literotica Guru
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why... why do you poke at my insecurities all the time
You have insecurities? Right.
Let's cuddle. But keep your shirt on.
y=mx+b
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SheRemembers
Don't wait too long...
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Your AV puts me in a tickling mood.
mrsmiawallace
Literotica Guru
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No spoon for you
Oh I'll have my spoon. Damn it!!! I WILL HAVE MY SPOON!!
y=mx+b
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and that's why you get all the spooning you can handle.
SheRemembers
Don't wait too long...
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Oh, no. I can handle a lot of spooning.
mrsmiawallace
Literotica Guru
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I hate you.
y=mx+b
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Honey123
creatively challenged....
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Oh..I'm guessing you do? Do you fantasize about that as well? You know, like I do?
y=mx+b
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and I got a lot of spooning to give... now that my work load has lightened by one.
y=mx+b
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SheRemembers
Don't wait too long...
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Eeeeevil.
y=mx+b
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no... I don't fantasize about me peeing in the shower.
but now I kinda am... only it's more thinking about it then anything else.
Honey123
creatively challenged....
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Peeing in the shower pervents athlete's feet.
Little info there, babe... just in case. *wow, sorry 'bout the babe reference.
y=mx+b
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y=mx+b
___________
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oh how fun it is to free write every now and then.
sick of typing and the life in the world is seeking an end and all will be okay because we don’t see the cat in the window working until the sky is dark and the rain comes through the blood of the screen climbing up the stairs into the window as the cat sits upon the chest of a dead man. the world is bright though time has stopped and we don’t understand why. but it’s okay because we have the time. the rifles aren’t due back so there is no point is washing the knives. Stan spoke first then shot dead the guy he was next to. I knew there was nothing left of the guy before he died... just a spectrum of an existence seeping into a heavenly hell we all secretly wish to go. Her tits were soft but that didn’t matter either. she knew she’d be killed either by one of them or old age. all of us had that sort of resolve. The guns arrived and we snuck out the back. my leg still hurt from the wound but it would heal... it would have to heal. we loaded into the truck without being seen. I took my gun... my lover... the one I’ve put in my mouth too many nights to remember. It’s something they don’t tell you when you are laying there in bed. “oh... by the way, you are really going to want to kill yourself but you’ll never really actually do it even though God Himself is telling you to do it.” I fucking hate those nights... but coming into life is far worse of an experience than ending it. Take my word for it.
When I died a widowed old man there was a shit-load of pain... but it was quick and I never felt so good. Age was gone... mental and physical pain, desire... gone. all there was was a black calm and the sweet smell of spring. That was it. Some say we were floating but we weren’t. We were simply being as we were meant to be. Ourselves by ourselves, content within ourselves, in the company of others but not interacting. no sounds no sensation no disorientation, confusion or questions. Just warm darkness, the scent of sweet-peas and peonies... then... sadness.
like a punch to the gut. I was sucked out of it all as if I were not-quite-yet-set strawberry jello being pulled into a syringe. feeling the needle sinking into my eyeball. I puked but there was nothing... no production... just the stench. It was everywhere.
Extrication from that beautiful life thinking and pain swelled my testicles to explosive proportions causing my eyes to open only to find myself naked on the floor of some fucked up shower stall. rusty water cold then hot then cold... never right. I was angered. I was raped. I was Godless. when we say that to people they hate us... like we have no morals. what they don’t understand is that we are Godless because that fuck if fucking everywhere fucking with us day in and day out keeping all of us in a state of misery throwing a bone to us every now and then to give us that sense of purpose we so dearly seek...
there are five of us but I only remember two others. all of us the same... all of us having our own method of killing... all of us with the rabid compulsion of killing ourselves with what we have been given to kill others.
I remember the first time Stacy picked up her knives... those fucking knives... blades always changing to suit the objective. We were all fucking scared but not knowing why. we looked at what was before us knowing something we didn’t know. Our selves being pulled towards them.
Stacy was the first... we all watched her. The knife fit into her hand so beautifully, so seductively that it was difficult for me not to become overwhelmed in sickening convulsive orgasms. I watched her eyes and I felt her become showered in an emotional pain no one should ever feel. I watched her... she was justified... it was the thing to do... no one question because we all felt it. She looked at us as she slide the chrome blade across her neck. Hot blood began to spurt across the room. she continued to draw the knife across... but nothing. Like a whore who's never had a climactic fuck she fell into a desperate frenzy. desiring her own death she stabbed herself in places that shouldn’t be stabbed. I watched her push the blade through her forearm and work her way up in a sea-sawing fashion between her ulnar and radius. Her screams of wanting to die filled all of us though they were silent. We couldn’t take it any more.... her suffering was our suffering--that is until our own suffering made itself known.
Henry reached for the pipe and it was the same sick feeling of emptyness. I watched his teeth pop like popcorn out of his mouth as he pornographically beat in his skull. The orbital socket of his skull shattered... bone popping his eyeball like a fucking grape.
I looked around... watching the horror of people failing to kill themselves. It felt like they were on fire; their extinguishers useless. As soon as I touched the gun the barrel was in my mouth and my finger was pulling the trigger as fast as it could. I felt the copper coated lead bullet crack the upper palate of my mouth and enter my sinuses. The shear concussion of it all reduced the brain in my skull to liquid, albeit cognitive liquid. The back of my skull cracking as the bullet pressed up against it. The ejected shell had not even left the chamber of the gun yet blood exited out of my mouth as if it were water rushing forth from a primordial fucking fire-hose. The pressure in my head... the hot sticky blood vomiting forth... fragments of my skull still patched with hair flying through the air...
Cognizant of the promise that drew us all to the point of what we just experienced we found our selves laughing at the scene so reminiscent of a Monty Python skit. Stacy’s knives were beautifully clean... Henry’s smile was never better... and the gun in my hand felt better than the pussy of my brothers fiance as I finger-fucked her during Christmas dinner.
sick of typing and the life in the world is seeking an end and all will be okay because we don’t see the cat in the window working until the sky is dark and the rain comes through the blood of the screen climbing up the stairs into the window as the cat sits upon the chest of a dead man. the world is bright though time has stopped and we don’t understand why. but it’s okay because we have the time. the rifles aren’t due back so there is no point is washing the knives. Stan spoke first then shot dead the guy he was next to. I knew there was nothing left of the guy before he died... just a spectrum of an existence seeping into a heavenly hell we all secretly wish to go. Her tits were soft but that didn’t matter either. she knew she’d be killed either by one of them or old age. all of us had that sort of resolve. The guns arrived and we snuck out the back. my leg still hurt from the wound but it would heal... it would have to heal. we loaded into the truck without being seen. I took my gun... my lover... the one I’ve put in my mouth too many nights to remember. It’s something they don’t tell you when you are laying there in bed. “oh... by the way, you are really going to want to kill yourself but you’ll never really actually do it even though God Himself is telling you to do it.” I fucking hate those nights... but coming into life is far worse of an experience than ending it. Take my word for it.
When I died a widowed old man there was a shit-load of pain... but it was quick and I never felt so good. Age was gone... mental and physical pain, desire... gone. all there was was a black calm and the sweet smell of spring. That was it. Some say we were floating but we weren’t. We were simply being as we were meant to be. Ourselves by ourselves, content within ourselves, in the company of others but not interacting. no sounds no sensation no disorientation, confusion or questions. Just warm darkness, the scent of sweet-peas and peonies... then... sadness.
like a punch to the gut. I was sucked out of it all as if I were not-quite-yet-set strawberry jello being pulled into a syringe. feeling the needle sinking into my eyeball. I puked but there was nothing... no production... just the stench. It was everywhere.
Extrication from that beautiful life thinking and pain swelled my testicles to explosive proportions causing my eyes to open only to find myself naked on the floor of some fucked up shower stall. rusty water cold then hot then cold... never right. I was angered. I was raped. I was Godless. when we say that to people they hate us... like we have no morals. what they don’t understand is that we are Godless because that fuck if fucking everywhere fucking with us day in and day out keeping all of us in a state of misery throwing a bone to us every now and then to give us that sense of purpose we so dearly seek...
there are five of us but I only remember two others. all of us the same... all of us having our own method of killing... all of us with the rabid compulsion of killing ourselves with what we have been given to kill others.
I remember the first time Stacy picked up her knives... those fucking knives... blades always changing to suit the objective. We were all fucking scared but not knowing why. we looked at what was before us knowing something we didn’t know. Our selves being pulled towards them.
Stacy was the first... we all watched her. The knife fit into her hand so beautifully, so seductively that it was difficult for me not to become overwhelmed in sickening convulsive orgasms. I watched her eyes and I felt her become showered in an emotional pain no one should ever feel. I watched her... she was justified... it was the thing to do... no one question because we all felt it. She looked at us as she slide the chrome blade across her neck. Hot blood began to spurt across the room. she continued to draw the knife across... but nothing. Like a whore who's never had a climactic fuck she fell into a desperate frenzy. desiring her own death she stabbed herself in places that shouldn’t be stabbed. I watched her push the blade through her forearm and work her way up in a sea-sawing fashion between her ulnar and radius. Her screams of wanting to die filled all of us though they were silent. We couldn’t take it any more.... her suffering was our suffering--that is until our own suffering made itself known.
Henry reached for the pipe and it was the same sick feeling of emptyness. I watched his teeth pop like popcorn out of his mouth as he pornographically beat in his skull. The orbital socket of his skull shattered... bone popping his eyeball like a fucking grape.
I looked around... watching the horror of people failing to kill themselves. It felt like they were on fire; their extinguishers useless. As soon as I touched the gun the barrel was in my mouth and my finger was pulling the trigger as fast as it could. I felt the copper coated lead bullet crack the upper palate of my mouth and enter my sinuses. The shear concussion of it all reduced the brain in my skull to liquid, albeit cognitive liquid. The back of my skull cracking as the bullet pressed up against it. The ejected shell had not even left the chamber of the gun yet blood exited out of my mouth as if it were water rushing forth from a primordial fucking fire-hose. The pressure in my head... the hot sticky blood vomiting forth... fragments of my skull still patched with hair flying through the air...
Cognizant of the promise that drew us all to the point of what we just experienced we found our selves laughing at the scene so reminiscent of a Monty Python skit. Stacy’s knives were beautifully clean... Henry’s smile was never better... and the gun in my hand felt better than the pussy of my brothers fiance as I finger-fucked her during Christmas dinner.
questiongrl
yep, it's me
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- May 9, 2007
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oh. my.
oh. y....
oh. y....
Sweetone70
Beautifully Broken
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wow
.
.
SheRemembers
Don't wait too long...
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Fantastic shadow on your back, dear.
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